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It started as a fun idea. You agreed before you could think about it enough to be apprehensive. Now, you were having second thoughts.
You knew that your friendship with Kenny was still budding, right at the threshold between waving from across the cafeteria and sitting at the same table as a given. So it was a no-brainer to respond as quickly as possible before the moment passed.
Kenny: Wanna come hang out with us? We are going to dick around in the mall’s parking deck for a while.
Cartman’s gonna toooootally learn how to kick flip in one night. He saw a streamer do it.
Douchebag: omw
You heard them as you made your way to the second level.
“Cartman, dude, you have to lift your foot!”
“SHUT UP KYEL, MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T STARING SO HARD IT WOULDN’T HAVE FLOWN OFF LIKE THAT!”
“It doesn’t make a difference if Kyle’s looking at it if you’re just doing it wrong.”
Right as the group started to come into view, before you could take in and ponder just how much duct tape Cartman used to attach a pillow to himself that securely, You heard the regular rhythm of a longboard on the pavement pause, then continue, getting louder as Kenny smiled at you. You reciprocated as he glided towards you, eyes widening as he got closer before you heard him yell a muffled “BAIL!!!”
You started to jump to the left just as he went right, crashing into each other. Cartman, eager to take a break from being heckled, guffawed at your uncoordinated greeting.
“Douchebag’s too busy getting lost in his eyes to get out of the way.”
You dusted yourself off as you made your way closer to the rest of the group. Stan seemed more interested in shuffling his Spotify playlist on his phone as he sat on a parking curb. Kyle fussed with the wheels on Stan’s skateboard in an attempt to prevent any more accidents as he huffed in acknowledgment of your arrival.
“Always nice to see you, Cartman.” You sat yourself down next to Stan, leaning in dramatically to catch a glimpse of the song he was playing in his earbud. Your Graduation by Modern Baseball. Huh. He yanked his phone away from you at your derisive reaction. “How’s the kickflip going?” You ask Kyle, bringing a smug smile to his face.
“How do you think it’s going?”
“SHUT UP KYLE!” Cartman didn’t even offer a glance as he continued flailing his feet on top of his board.
“Dude, you’re fucking up the concrete. Give it a rest.”
“Why am I getting the third degree when HE is actively leaving crime scenes anytime he wants to stop?!”
Kenny rolled his way back, albeit slower than before. He leaned forward, curving his path toward the curb. You startled, bumping into Stan. Just as Stan realized the impending danger of Kenny on a longboard, he bumped into the curb lightly, stopping surprisingly gracefully. He stepped down, sitting himself down next to you to watch Cartman continue to abuse the pavement. Jostled, Stan finally got up to get his board from Kyle. “Finally figured out your queue?” You asked.
Stan ignored you as he started a lap around the deck. Kenny bumped shoulders with you. “You don’t have a board?”
You focused on double knotting your shoelaces, embarrassed. “No, no I don’t own one. I don’t mix well with wheels.”
“It’s not that bad. I make it look rougher than it is, because I go too fast. You should try it.”
“Hmm, nah, I can’t.”
Kyle piped up, “Yeah, dude, I think watching Cartman bust his ass over and over is entertaining enough.”
“Fuck you, Kyle!” Cartman rebuked, somehow successfully pulling off an ollie. He still threw a mini-tantrum in response to the failure to perform a successful kickflip.
“You can use my longboard; It’s actually really fun.”
You closed your eyes, letting the idea roll around in your head as you considered the offer. It did sound really alluring to breeze around the deck. You wanted to cross that threshold so badly. If you got comfortable with longboarding, you could start riding around town and keep up with them on days where they would poot around town. And you would look really cool. Just one step closer to being invited to hang out with Kenny one-on-one. Your attempts to spend time with him at school and other events could only go so far. But if you fell…. It would be devastating. Life ending, even.
“I really don’t have the right shoes for it; I’m not prepped with pillows like Cartman is,” you started your negotiations.
“God, you’re not some punk ass puny little bitch, douchebag. You’ll be fine. Suck it up.” Cartman launched off the board, landing just as the board planted itself sideways, having under-rotated by a long shot. He seethed. It wasn’t up to you to discern if he was seething in pain or in anger.
“I can guide you; I’ll catch you if you fall,” Kenny’s eyes narrowed in what was clearly a hidden smirk. “I can even hold your hands.”
You blinked back at him. “You don’t even know how to stop, how will I be able to if you can’t either?”
“Easy. I’ll just pick you up off the board. You won’t even have to bail.”
“This sounds like a stupid idea,” Kyle interjected.
“Stupid fun, maybe,” Kenny quipped, getting up and offering his hand for you to join him.
Kyle finally decided that he was sick of watching Cartman fail the same way repeatedly. He reached behind him for his penny board to start making laps back and forth along the wall, practicing his tic-tacks.
Against your better judgement, you took Kenny’s hand. “You promise you won’t let me fall?”
“I’d never let someone as pretty as you get hurt.”
Cartman retched. “GO BE GROSS SOMEWHERE ELSE!”
He brought the longboard to you, holding your hands as you tentatively lifted your foot to it. As you put your weight on it, it slid. Bracing against Kenny, you brought your foot back down on the pavement. He corrected the mistake by sliding his foot in front of the wheels. “Sorry, it shouldn’t move while you get on it now. Try to stand just ahead of the center.” He gestured to the spot on the longboard. You brought yourself up, bringing your height level with Kenny’s. “Okay, now you use your other foot to push off, then you place it behind your dominant foot. Then, you’ll lean to one side or the other to turn.”
As you kicked off, he softly retracted his grip on you. Opting to keep himself hovering behind you, he followed you as you breezed along, slowly. “See, you’re doing just fine,” he encouraged. You slowly gained confidence, opting to kick off faster and faster each time, going so far as to start leaning to turn around the parking deck, passing by Stan, so engrossed in his music that you had to internally panic as you leaned out of his path.
“Wait, this is so fun!” You called back to Kenny, feeling the breeze as you boarded along.
“Told you so!” You heard from right behind you, still ready to catch you in case anything happened.
You felt an impish impulse rise from within. You turned towards the inclined segment of the parking deck and pushed off once again, so fast that Kenny lagged behind. Right as you were basking in the freedom of a new mode of transportation, there was a crack in the pavement. A big crack. The entire longboard shifted from under you, jettisoning off up the ramp as you stayed behind. Fuck inertia. One moment, you were feeling the joy of long boarding, the next you were on the ground, feeling the pain of long boarding. Maybe you should’ve quit while you were ahead.
Kenny ran up to you, as you sat on the ground, scarily silent. Your ankle was throbbing.
“Shit— are you ok?”
You closed your eyes, trying to not show any visible discomfort. This was humiliating. You brought your left knee to your chest, knowing better than to attempt to move your right foot. Before you could start placating, Kenny was crouching himself by your ankle, brushing your jeans out of the way to see the skin starting to bruise and swell. Your worst fear. You must have looked so stupid. You felt like everyone saw you. You swiveled your head to check the damage, finding Stan, Kyle, and Cartman all too engrossed in their own activities to even notice your fall. You were in the clear for now, you just needed to play it cool. You gingerly lifted your leg, taking care to not move any muscles below your calf. “Woah, woah woah, hey—“ Kenny started, reaching a hand to your shin, still too close to the injury. Your brows pinched together, despite your attempt to ignore the painful waves of discomfort. You felt a familiar wetness on your eyelashes, instantly opting to look up instead of making eye contact with Kenny long enough to meet his unwavering focus on your face. If you had looked, you would have noticed how his eyebrows folded with worry, guilt, and responsibility. He could feel the blood rushing up his neck, his ears, and his cheeks as he silently stewed on how he let this happen—let you fall despite promising it wouldn’t happen. He just— for a second, he saw your most unguarded smile, the way your eyes closed in bliss, for once he wasn’t noticing the way words felt like they were working their way through the cogs in your brain, leaving him wondering what was being left unsaid. It was breathtaking, and he was so proud of how quickly you were learning.
Leaning your head back and trying to keep your tone and expression as even as possible, you said, “It’s fine, just a shock. I think I’m just gonna sit and observe for now. I think its a good time for you to get a turn with it anyways, since it belongs to you and—“
“Shouldn’t you ice that?”
“Huh?”
“You should definitely ice that,” he said, focusing on your ankle.
You started shaking your head before you fully processed his suggestion. “It’s not that bad, don’t worry about it.”
He stood and offered a hand to help you up, looking at you incredulously. You took his hand, bracing all of your weight as you relied on your left leg to lift your body off the ground.
“If you idiots weren’t so busy EYE FUCKING EACH OTHER maybe you would’ve seen me just absolutely NAIL this kick flip!”
Cartman’s tirade was exactly the distraction you needed to smoothly position yourself in such a way that it wasn’t entirely obvious that you were refusing to put any weight on your right side.
Just as Cartman gave you an opportunity, he also opened you up to the scrutiny of being perceived. Great.
Of course, right when Cartman addressed how long you and Kenny were spending in one spot—decidedly NOT long boarding— Stan passed by, slowing to a stop in front of you. It didn’t take long for his eyes to transition from curiosity to focus. Damn his habit of noticing details. As you began to silently huff in relief, his focus shifted from your body, facial expression, and posture to Kenny. Shit. “Are they ok?”
Kenny huffed, reaching his hand through his hood to scratch at his neck guiltily. “Yeah, they fell.” You tried to be subtle with how reliant you were on Kenny’s shoulder for balance. Your denial of the problem was flimsy at best, and you felt it splintering further by the second.
“You let them fall…? That’s so fucked up, man,” Stan deadpanned, popping his earbud back in. “You should get them ice for that.” Before anyone could respond, he dropped his skateboard, continuing his circular path through the deck.
Kenny’s willingness to play along with your facade finally faded. “Get on my back.” He crouched down.
“No fucking way.”
“I’m taking you home. You need to ice your ankle. Hop up.”
You picked up his longboard, pulling the carrying strap over your shoulder. You climbed up on his back, letting him adjust your weight before standing up straight. “We’re heading out for now,” he said to no-one in particular.
You laid your head on his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his footfalls take your mind off of the dulling pain. You closed your eyes, leaning in towards his face to nuzzle the soft fuzzy lining of the hood.
In your comfort, time passed quickly. It felt like a matter of minutes when you heard Kenny ask, “spare key?”
“Under the doormat.”
You slowly opened your eyes to the soft, orange glow of the setting sun; your parent’s car was absent from the driveway, meaning that they were still out attending a concert in Denver. Kenny gave you a quick heads up before he gently let you down, letting you brace against him to continue keeping weight off your ankle.
You made your way to the couch, setting up home base. Kenny instantly went to work, locating the kitchen to prepare an ice pack and a glass of water. As he brought them to the coffee table, he found throw pillows and arranged them for you to prop up your swollen ankle and one to place behind your back, movement so fluid that his sole focus was clearly on your comfort. He assessed his work with a visual once-over, nodding to himself before asking, “what else can I do? Am I forgetting anything?”
“No, this is more than enough. Thank you, Kenny.”
The air in the room turned pensive, as a moment of silence passed between you. Finally, you said, “I hope you can still get some longboarding in before Cartman gives up on his kickflip dreams.”
His face turned. “Nah, I’m all done for today. I’ll probably just head home early and call it a night.”
“Oh, well, if that’s the case… would you like to stay for dinner? It would be really helpful to have an extra set of hands… and ankles, I guess. I can put on a movie.”
Kenny smiled with his eyes, seating himself down at the suspiciously empty part of the couch, next to your princess and the pea’d ankle. You grabbed the TV remote as he found a throw blanket to cover you both. You queued up X-Men: First Class.
“How’d you know I never finished X-Men: First Class?”
“What?! I didn’t! What do you mean you’ve never finished X-Men: First Class?”
“Ugh, we were going to see it in theaters, but something came up before the movie started. I guess we just never thought to try to see it again.”
By the end of the night, Kenny wasn’t sure how long he had fallen asleep since he had found his way to sitting shoulder to shoulder with you. And who’s to say how his arm made its way across your shoulders. One thing was for certain. He was absolutely smitten, now.
Well, being doted on isn’t too bad. You’ll look cool in front of the guys next time.
Epilogue:
Cartman: I DID IT. GUYS.
Kyle: Yeah right. LMFAO
Kenny: Pics or it didn’t happen.
Cartman: I’M FUCKING BLOCKING ALL OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS. BUTTERS KNOWS A PRO SKATER WHEN HE SEES ONE. HAVE FUN FINDING YOURSELVES BANNED FROM PLAYING CARTMAN’S PRO SKATER NEXT YEAR, FUCKERS.